22
MATEO
“Yo, grab me another beer while you’re up there,” I shout to Miguel’s back as he weaves his way through the crowd toward the packed bar.
It’s Friday night, and I’m so fucking happy to be off for the weekend. It’s been one hell of a week. I don’t know what it is about the first of the year, but it always brings in a mess of car trouble. Probably has to do with the holidays, and people neglecting their car maintenance in favor of paying for it all.
Miguel and I are meeting our other friend, Doran, here to kickback and have a few beers. Doran actually owns this bar with his husband, and the three of us all met back in high school.
He and his husband just got back from a trip to Europe for their anniversary. Been married six years now.
“So, how was the trip?” I ask him over the music playing.
Doran glances up from his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. “It was fucking great, man. Definitely recommend.”
“Where all did you go again?”
“London, Paris, Rome, and Amsterdam.”
“Damn, sounds like a good fucking time.”
“What’s new with you?” he asks. “Heard you got the shit beat out of you by someone’s boyfriend mid-fuck.”
Miguel steps up to the table, three beers in hand, glancing between a laughing Doran and a glaring me.
“What the fuck did you tell him?” I spit out, rolling my eyes. Turning my attention back to Doran, I say, “I didn’t get the shit beat out of me. It was a lamp… got thrown at my head.”
Doran grabs his abdomen, head thrown back onto his shoulders as he barks out a laugh.
“Oh, fuck off. Both of you.” I look away, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips. It is a little comical if you think about it. Especially considering who my neighbor is now.
Speaking of my neighbor, my mind drifts back to Travis. He occupies the space a lot lately, I won’t even lie. I’m craving more of him, and it’s like the more I want, the more he pushes away. It’s been a little over a month since we hooked up during the snowstorm, and he’s played an impressive—and infuriating—game of hard to get ever since.
We see each other in the hall of our building often, after work and shit, but aside from simple pleasantries, he won’t give me the time of day. And when I saysimplepleasantries, I mean it. I’ve tried to be the nice, friendly neighbor and everything, and still…nothing. Same thing when I try to text him. The fucker has a lot more willpower than I thought he would, and it’s not working in my favor. In fact, it’s slowly driving me fucking insane.
I’m getting antsy and impatient to not only have him underneath me again, writhing and begging, but also to spend time with him in general. Even if we did something boring and mundane, like watch a fucking movie together or walk his dog. I can’t explain this desire to simply be near him, clothed or not.
Hanging outisn’t usually my cup of tea, but it’s like the more Travis ignores me, the more I want to have him in any way that I can.
Who the fuck am I lately?
I down the rest of my beer before pulling my phone out of my pocket. Knowing I probably shouldn’t, as he’ll probably ignore me, I do it anyway.
Me: Cariño…
Me: What are you doing?
Peering over at my friends, I raise off the chair, stretching my arms over my head. “I’ll be right back. Getting another. You guys want one?”
They both nod.
Travis doesn’t have his read receipts on, so I can’t tell if he’s read it or not. It’s been a few minutes, and nothing. No text bubble popping up with an incoming text, no response. Nothing. It’s infuriating.
The bartender takes my empty bottle, walking away to retrieve me three more. While I wait, I send off another text. Because why the fuck not.
Me: Oh, come on… no need to ignore me. What do you say I come on by, and we have a repeat of before?
“Here you go,” the bartender says. Dragging my gaze from the screen up to her face, I grab the beers.
